


Our Lives and Deaths Set Before You

by amoama



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Gods of the Arena
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amoama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melitta knew from the moment the command was given how she felt, the belly flip of dark want, long suppressed. </p>
<p><i>That</i> scene from canon, Oenomaus fighting, Gannicus and Melitta forced to have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Lives and Deaths Set Before You

**Author's Note:**

> Just to expiate some feelings. 
> 
> The non-con is not mitigated by their feelings for each other.

It wasn’t the pain of the blow. The rip of his skin was by now one of the most familiar feelings of Oenomaus's life. It was instead the proximity of the cut to his great scars from the battle with Theokoles. He looked down to see blood escaping from his chest just as it had over and over again that long day in the arena. And he feared that to let the Doctore continue unhindered would be to risk never setting foot in the arena again. So he roared and charged and pressed his teacher into the dirt beneath him. 

*

Melitta knew from the moment the command was given how she felt, the belly flip of dark want, long suppressed. It mixes cruelly with her disgust at this sordid forcing. She swallows hard and looks Gannicus in the eye. The friend she is so careful of, so fond, perhaps even motherly towards, to avoid flirtation. The brother her husband needs. She weeps for her husband and for her own conflicted heart and shameful body as she feels her cunt wetting. 

She weeps because she does not choose this and because she fears how much she wants it. 

*

Doctore backs him to the cliff’s edge and he must choose. He has already chosen. Oenomaus will fight, is fighting, has always fought, to the death. Whatever victory tastes like. He must live. He has things to live for. 

*

It is the way Gannicus looks at her: the way he holds himself within her but not against her. Trying with all his might not to take more of her than necessary. At first her skin crawls, aware of all the ways he is not her husband. Aware of all the things she has admired in him and yet never desired, never wanting to be one of the thousands he has bedded and forgotten. She does not think he has ever looked at a woman he has entered with more consideration than he looks at her now.   
*  
Gannicus does not think of her. He never thinks of her. Every woman he thrusts into, he thrusts hard and deep and concentrates only on the woman in front of him. Never of Melitta. His swordbrother’s wife. Never her. Always the woman in front of him, her rising chest, the sweat coating her nipples, a collarbone ripe to be bitten in to. But now it is Melitta’s body beneath his, her breasts trembling with her shuddered breaths as he breaches her. Melitta’s jaw that juts out away from him, her legs widening further for every inch he claims within her. He must look at her, map her, study her delicate form – all the things he has not allowed himself to notice until now. 

*

And then he starts to move. She wants it to be over and so she urges him on. She arches and reaches out to him, opens her eyes as he surges within her, looks at him, looks at his pained longing, the panicked, aching need that consumes him as he joins himself to her. They are together now. They move in a haze of lust, taking of each other, clawing at skin they must not feel, cannot remember. Memories that should never be made, desire that has never before taken shape in word or look, barely even in thought, comes to fruition between them even in this seedy, depraved atrium. The salacious eyes give them what they cannot bear to hold onto in themselves, reminds them of the wrong they are committing even as they finally, ultimately acknowledge its rightness. 

*

He breathes into her skin, her pores drink up his sweat as they cling together. He does not stop moving, harsh, fast thrusts that cause her pain as well as the longed for fullness. She clenches around him with her whole being, holds him within her while she can. She has this, this moment, this is it. She rubs herself down onto him and cries out her release as he pours himself into her. She feels him unleash, then soften, withdraw. It is over too quickly and he carefully lays her back down and looks upon her, desperation clear in his eyes. He wants this to be everything that it’s not. He wants it to be wanted, he wants it to be forgiveable. He wants a different world where they are not slaves and Oenomaus is not her husband. She cannot bear to look into his face and know already that they are doomed. 

*

She turns from him and it feels to him as she goes that she is taking his vitality with her, some covering that he had been relying upon has been ripped from him and he feels raw and vulnerable in her wake. 

*

Oenomaus watches his Doctore crumble before him. He can only hate himself, he wants to, for all he stands to gain. 

*

Melitta washes Gannicus from herself because she must, because it is a way to remember his touch. Because this was forced upon her and she did not ask for it and wanted it only with a part of herself she barely knew existed. She cries because she is a slave and does not choose this for herself and no longer knows what she would choose even if she were free.

*

Gannicus watches her return to her husband. Knows her to be free of him already, clean. And he knows now finally, what he has missed, what he tried never to want. Acknowledges, in the wake of this night, every splinter of the devastating chasm within him that has always been there and has never been filled except for in those last brief moments when her hand gripped his side, trembling tight and honest.


End file.
